Survival
by Red Warrior
Summary: If you strive to survive so much, you might forget you also have to live."


**I only own the DVDs... though sometimes, I feel like they are the ones that own me. **

**SURVIVAL**

_Went the distance, now I'm not gonna stop_

_Just a man and his will to survive_

~Eye of the Tiger

* * *

"You've seen it all, done it all. You survived. That's the trick, innit? To survive..."

Teague sighed low, his hands becoming still on his guitar at the end of his son's sentence. He had half hoped the boy would just follow his pals and leave him to his thoughts, yet another part of the older captain was glad the lad stayed. They never saw each other quite often, and when they did they didn't have a lot of things to tell the other.

"It's not just about living forever, Jackie," he said, biting back a chuckle at his son's bemused expression as he put his dear instrument aside to stand up and walk over to where his offspring was standing. "The trick is living _with yourself_ forever."

Jack nodded, as if giving thought to what his father had just said, but when he looked up again Teague could tell his son had put his comment aside. He should have known better; nothing could sway the great Captain Jack Sparrow. Not even his own father.

"How's Mum?" Mindlessly and wordlessly, Teague produced the shrunken head that once had belonged to his wife from a pouch at his belt. Jack eyed it wearily before breaking into a humorless grin. "She looks great."

As quickly as it had appeared, Jack's grin slipped from his face, and Teague understood that it was the way his son had learned to deal with grief. That, or his little Jackie really had become as barkin' bad as most of the pirate lords liked to say. It infuriated him to no end, but at times he couldn't really blame them; Teague himself often wondered what the hell was happening in his son's head for him to act as he did.

"What happen'd?" Jack asked, dragging Teague back on earth.

"Ran into one of those tribe, northern Madagascar," the older pirate told mechanically, as if he had already told the story a thousand times, while stroking a dry strand of hair on the little head. "Spent years hol'd up in 'ere, and the one time we get out for some fresh air... Funny thing, though, that we met and parted on the same island." Teague gave a bitter chuckle. "Kind o' romantic, if you think 'bout it, minus the whole head-shrinkin' process..."

Jack cringed, not taking his eyes off of his mother's dead ones. "How d'you escape?"

"Please, lad." Teague put his wife's head back in his pouch. "I'm Captain Teague."

"Now I see why people tend to get angry whenever I say something similar," Jack mumbled. "It's bloody infuriatin'!"

"Wiped the lot of 'em clean and sailed back 'ere aboard my _Lady, _there, feel better?" Teague considered going back to his trusted guitar – at least she wouldn't question him about things he'd rather forget – and was halfway through turning his back on Jack when he noticed something. His son's eyes were downcast, and he wasn't swaying on his feet as was usually the case; he looked like he was deep in thoughts. Thoughts? Since when did Jack Sparrow actually stop to _think_?

The boy was shaken, that much Teague could tell. He actually never thought his mum's death would affect him so much. Of course, they had had time to bond, but it was not uncommon when years would elapse without Jackie stopping by to say hi. Last time Teague had seen his son, he had just gotten the _Black Pearl_, and maps that, according to him, would lead him to the greatest treasure ever known. Something about Aztec gold and Muerta, Teague couldn't remember. He had been so surprised Jack had hired Hector Barbossa Jr. as his first mate that he had forgotten to listen; and to think that both boys couldn't stand one another when they were younger... True, Hector was several years older than Jack, but he had always been jealous of him.

Teague suddenly wondered how that adventure of his had gone. Jack had obviously not found said treasure, if his torn boots and ragged shirt were anything to judge by – then again his son had never been one for regular clothing – and the Keeper was curious as to why.

"Care for a drink, Jackie?"

The words were out of Teague's mouth before he could help it. Obviously Jack was caught unaware, one could tell from the way his black eyes widened slightly. To hell with it; he could bloody well have a drink or two with his son and listen to him for a change. He could never have that opportunity again, for all he knew, what with that war and all...

"I'm waitin'," Teague chuckled when Jack stayed unresponsive.

"Am too... I thought me answer was bloody evident, how could I possibly pass up on such 'n offer?" Jack's trademark grin was back into place.

Teague led him down some stairs to his study. It was a small, windowless room, which smelt of tobacco and ink. Jack had been in there on a few occasions, when he was younger, to watch his father while he was working, wondering if one day he'd get to be a captain too.

There were maps, pencils and sheets of paper strewn across the only table in the room, so with an elegant flourish of his arm the Keeper of the Code freed some space the only way he knew how; by swiping everything onto the floor.

Jack snorted. "And to think there was a time when you'd kick me ass if I had the bad luck to knock somethin' over."

"There was also a time when I had too many things to do and too little time," Teague retorted as he kicked two worn-out stools so they were around the table. "Now it's the other way 'round, I'm afraid. I'll sort these when you're gone, Jackie. Now where's that bottle..."

Gingerly, Jack took place on a stool, wincing when the thing creaked under his weight. By the gods, had his father ever changed these? He'd say not... He had a feeling the damned thing was going to break and he'd end up making a fool of himself in front of his father. Not that he thought that his father held him in high regards already, but this sure would do no good to his ego. So, Jack carefully balanced some of his weight on his feet which were still touching the floor.

A dirty glass was placed on the table before him, and it wasn't long until Teague poured him a large supply of rum, which Jack accepted eagerly. The captain of the _Black Pearl _began sipping at his glass, and nearly choked on it when his father plopped down on the other stool and took a large gulp from the bottle. "Yeh always told me yeh hated it 'cause it burnt your throat!" he sputtered.

"Aye, that be true," Teague nodded. "But life tends to get boring real fast in 'ere with just that stinkin' dog and the Code I must have read at least four times. So... I get by."

"Aye... so rum it was," Jack slurred. He took another measured sip from his glass; usually, he'd wolf down any amount of rum be it in a glass or in a bottle, but for some reason he felt compelled to act a little more... well, to act a little less like himself, at any rate. It wasn't everyday that he got to have a drink with his father, and though he was having a hard time restraining himself from polishing off his glass and wandering aimlessly around the room, he guessed it wouldn't harm him to act on some level of sanity for once.

A few minutes – but they could have been hours for all Jack knew – elapsed in companionable, if not a little bit uncomfortable silence, before Teague decided to break it. "So, I heard many a sailor speak 'bout you those past years... Been taking yer duties as Captain of the _Black Pearl _to heart, didn't ye, Jackie?"

"Wish I could 'ave," Jack grumbled, not taking his eyes off of the rum he had left. He regretted his words as soon as they were out; his father wouldn't be happy if he said that he had lost his precious ship and had therefore failed as a captain. Teague had never been one to forgive such things.

"What was that?" the captain of the _Misty Lady _asked, puzzled.

Oh, he was _so_ in for it now. "I chose meself a scoundrel of a first mate, 'tis what I did." Jack trailed a finger along the table, his many rings making clinking sounds as they rubbed against one another. "Bloody bastard stole me charts after I told where they be kept, and led a mutiny on the _Pearl_, leavin' me marooned on some spit of land yeh couldn't even call an island even it Davy Jones 'imself was threatenin' yeh."

"You're talking about Hector Barbossa, right?"

"Aye, that be the man."

"You took as your first mate a man what did nothing but wish you didn't exist for years." Jack winced and readied himself for whatever witty comment would follow, but Teague just chuckled. "How can you be such a legend and still act so... naive. It's a wonder you even became Pirate Lord of the Caribbean in the first place."

"I'm no legend," Sparrow sighed, but a grin formed itself on his cracked lips. "People talk 'bout dear old Jack... it's no wonder since I am by far the most handsome, most intelligent, most notorious and, mind yeh, humblest pirate cap'n ever known. Excepting yeh, of course, but I could beat yah in a spittin' contest so I guess this'd make me the best out of the two of us." Teague wasn't sure the ability to spit could be listed as a condition to be a great pirate captain, but then, his son _was _known for blabbering about things that very few people could understand. "But I'll be forgotten. In a few years, nobody will remember how I saved me bloody skin a thousand times, how the Navy never quite caught me... Details. Story-tellin'. Not worth much I'm afraid." He finished his glass as an excuse to drop his grin.

Teague poured his son another serving of rum. "Everyone lives and everyone dies, at some point, boy. There's nothing you can do about it and it'll happen to the lot of us."

"But not to you." Teague raised one interrogating eyebrow. "You've sailed around the whole world, you ruled over Madagascar, and you're the bloody Keeper of the Code." Jack made a vague gesture in the general direction of the heavy bookshelf upon which the massive Pirata Codex was resting. "Your name is bloody written down everywhere, nobody can forget 'bout you. You've done it all. You're bloody... immortal."

There was longing in his Jackie's voice. True, Sparrow's name was well-known in the Caribbean, but only inspired disgust, hatred or even plain annoyance. Not respect, not awe, not even fear. He was a joke amongst pirates, what with his strange demeanor, his broken compass, his ship which he couldn't manage to keep a hold on, his slurred speech and wobbly steps which led people to think he was drunk 24 hours a day.

"Well, as I said, the trick isn't about livin' forever Jackie. But if it messes with yer head so much, just keep in mind that one day I'll be rotting away in Davy Jones' Locker and you'll be free to be the Keeper and have "your name bloody written down everywhere"," Teague said, but he already knew what his son would answer.

"Dad... we already went over this. I don't want to be rooted in 'ere doing nuthing but readin' reports, addin' to the Code and dealin' with those stupid Lords. I need to be out there... I need freedom, and I want it to last f'rever, savvy?"

"Life doesn't last forever, lad, else those graveyards would serve no purpose."

"I know. But I've an idea; it involves some tentacle-faced friend of mine, a thump-thump and good timing, and I be rather sure about it." Jack flashed off a smug grin, showing off his golden teeth. "I'll let yeh know how it goes."

"Whatever, Jackie."

Jack fingered his glass. It was empty now. A perfect excuse. "I should leave 'n see what our new Pirate King is up to," he grumbled, standing up, and the stool gave off a loud creak. "T'was nice speakin' for a bit down here, we should do it more often."

Teague almost smiled. "Aye, well about that, it's not like I'm goin' anywhere anytime in the future."

"I'll stop by when'ver I get the chance." Fat chance of that happening; Teague knew his son didn't mean a single word, or would forget about it the second he was back out in the open sea. He was used to it. "I'll see yeh later."

Sparrow walked over to the door, carefully avoiding stepping on the items scattered over the floor.

"Jack."

Damn. And he was almost out, too.

"Hn?" he rumbled softly as he turned around with a flourish.

"You know... if you strive to survive so much, you might just forget you also have to live."

Jack Sparrow flashed off a full grin, golden teeth and all, and the words flowed with natural ease. "Aye... but what if survival is my way of life?"


End file.
